


the civil institution

by bookhobbit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexuality, Demiromanticism, Henry Lascelles gets socked right in the kisser, Id Fic, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Pining, Slow Burn, and also bc the raven king is clearly bi so why not, bc it's alt history ANYWAY and i do what i want, in which same gender marriage is legal in the georgian period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: In the interest of respectability and convenience, Mr Norrell weds Childermass before he goes to London to restore English magic.Surely this will make no difference to their working relationship at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 8,000 words. Enjoy 20k of pure nonsense. I've broken it up into four chapters just in case you're the type who prefers to read in chapters.
> 
> I have no excuse for any of this.

The problem of marriage Mr Norrell considered a significant one. He had managed to remain unensnared thus far, as he pointed out to Childermass. Would it really be so bad to go to London unwed?

"Not so very bad, but it would be best if you took a husband," Childermass said. "It would be much more respectable. Will you let me find you one before we leave?"

Mr Norrell was known throughout the whole county as a habitual bachelor. Ambitious mamas had long since given up bringing their sons and daughters around for visits. It would be no small disruption to his usual habits to have a husband around the house -- a thoroughly invasive creature, no doubt. Husbands and wives of great men and women are, as everyone knows, shockingly youthful creatures who flit about without a care in the world, callow and gay. Mr Norrell had a limited tolerance for gaiety.

Mr Norrell considered his options. A very happy thought occurred to him, one which would solve all of the problems of marriage at one fell swoop.

"I could marry you," he said to Childermass.

"What?" said Childermass.

The more Mr Norrell considered this plan, the happier he felt in it. Childermass was not callow, he did not flit; he knew Mr Norrell's household routine, indeed he had organized Mr Norrell's household routine. He was sensible and fully cognizant of Mr Norrell's goals. Moreover, if he married Mr Norrell, he could not be tempted away to other employment by bribes.

"Yes," he said, "I shall marry you. You know Hurtfew and me better than any social butterfly who might consent to my suit. It will be much more convenient."

Childermass said, dryly, "Are you not supposed to ask the gentleman's permission first?"

Mr Norrell looked up irritably. "Oh, very well. Will you do me the honour of becoming my husband? You will, after all, have a halfshare in my household, which will be all to the betterment of your status."

Childermass gave the sort of sigh which only Mr Norrell could wrest from him. "If you're set on it, I will marry you, but I urge you to consider other options."

"I shall do not such thing."

"Consider the differences in our position in life."

"Nonsense. Men marry their secretaries."

Childermass gave another of the sighs particularly devoted to Mr Norrell's notions. "I am not your secretary."

"No indeed," said Mr Norrell, warming to his topic, "you are in a much more responsible position."

"Your aim is to become more respectable," Childermass reminded him, "and my past is exceedingly unrespectable."

Mr Norrell had hired Childermass shortly after he had caught Childermass picking his pockets. "No one needs to know that you had been a thief."

"Thief is not the worst of it," said Childermass dryly.

Mr Norrell waved a hand. "I grant that it is not ideal, yet it is much better than any other option. You are much better than any socialite I might capture."

Mr Norrell was gazing in deep consideration at his own shoes, and therefore he did not see the expression which crossed Childermass's face. A casual observer might have assumed it was exasperation; someone who knew Childermass well might have characterized it as fond.

"Besides," said Mr Norrell in tones of deep satisfaction, "We are neither of us sentimental men. You will not complicate things by falling in love with me, nor I with you."  

It was for the best that Mr Norrell again did not see the expression which crossed Childermass's face at this declaration. His confidence in his whole plan might have been quite shaken.

 

There's many a slip twixt cup and lip, as Childermass's mother would have said. The first one came over what Mr Norrell, a traditionalist, insisted on calling Childermass's trousseau. That is, he insisted that Childermass should have one, in the form of two new suits and new linens. He himself did not need one, but Childermass, he said, could not be respectable until he was better dressed.

"I've had my clothes for many a year and they've served me fine," said Childermass.

"Yes," said Mr Norrell with a look at one much-mended cuff. "Precisely my point. Wear your old things here if you like, but if you wish for me to be respectable, you must look the part. I cannot have a raggedy husband. It isn't done."

"You should have thought of that before you asked my hand," said Childermass, but a trousseau he got regardless.

 

The second difficulty came when they were discussing what to draw up in the marriage articles.

"I want to keep my name," said Childermass.

Mr Norrell tutted. "Why on Earth?" There could be no question that it was Norrell's name which should be passed on; he had land and money, and Childermass had nothing.

"Because it was my mother's, and I am the only one left to keep it."

Mr Norrell paused to consider this. He said as delicately as he could, "Not, er, your father's?"

"Never knew my father," said Childermass. "Don't know who he is."

"Ah," said Mr Norrell stiffly. He wanted to say that he couldn't see why Childermass should carry a name that would mark him as illegitimate, but a dangerous expression on Childermass's face suggested this would be unwise.

"Have you thought the better of marrying me yet?" said Childermass.

Mr Norrell had been, but now that a challenge had been issued, all such thoughts flew from his mind. "You won't dissuade me that easily," he said, and into the marriage articles went Childermass keeping his name.

 

The wedding itself was a wholly quiet affair at the village church. Childermass wore his worn old clothes and a two-day beard. Mr Norrell wore his most comfortable coat and his second-best wig. The witnesses were Lucas and Davy. Here another argument had intruded. Mr Norrell thought it undignified to have one's marriage witnessed by servants.

"It's a servant you're marrying," Childermass pointed out. "Besides, you have no friends."

Mr Norrell felt that, though true, this was a low blow. While he was trying to think of something, Childermass struck again.

"And I want you to let Hannah and Dido and Lucy come along," he said. "And any of the rest of the household who wants to see."

Mr Norrell made an indignant noise. "Really!"

"It'll give them a bit of excitement. And it'll remind you of exactly what you're doing."

"You are are punishing me for marrying you," said Mr Norrell. "You are the most ungrateful man I've ever met."

"And you are the most infuriating," said Childermass. "Have you thought the better of marrying me yet?"

And so it was that the footman Lucas and the coachman Davy witnessed the wedding of John Childermass and Gilbert Norrell, while the maids, cook, and housekeeper watched with interest. Curious villagers thronged them after, but Childermass waved them off. Mr Norrell observed this with gratitude. Childermass always knew exactly what he needed.

 

There was no wedding breakfast, no wedding tour. They returned to Hurtfew and ate a modest meal, then returned to their usual occupations.

With perfect peace, Mr Norrell thought that things were no different than usual.

Until the stream of visitors began pouring in.

As Childermass told him later, he should have expected this. Notorious a recluse as he was, the neighbors would of course seize any opportunity to poke their heads in on him. Moreover, notorious a bachelor as he was, they would seize any opportunity to see the man he had married.

Lucas, the traitor, allowed them in, not being under any instruction to tell visitors they were not at home.

"I am not in any state to receive visitors," said Mr Norrell upon being informed of their presence -- the first set, Mr and Mrs Southbrooke. "I have not prepared for the mental strain."

"I don't know that they'll go away until we have dealt with them," said Childermass, with a weary sigh. "Perhaps if they get a glimpse, they'll leave."

Mr Norrell harboured a particular dislike to Mr and Mrs Southbrooke, largely because they had once spoken ill of theoretical magic. They had done this when coming to offer their condolences on Mr Norrell's uncle's death. It had, admittedly, been upwards of thirty years since this time, but Mr Norrell had neither forgiven nor forgotten. He hoped that they would, indeed, be satisfied for a glimpse. He did not intend to offer them tea.

They stood very primly in the drawing room when Childermass and Mr Norrell entered.

"Ah! Mr Norrell!" Mr Southbrooke looked around. "Ah, er, I thought you would be bringing in your new husband--?"

Childermass gave a little smile that just straddled the border of mocking and polite, and bowed.

"Oh," said Mr Southbrooke. "Childermass -- er, Mr Norrell, now, I suppose."

"Mr Childermass," corrected Childermass.

"You've kept your name," said Mrs Southbrooke. "Oh. My goodness." Mr Norrell knew perfectly well that it was her name the Southbrookes bore, as Mr Southbrooke brought only a little money into their marriage, while she had brought quite a lot  of land. He did not see why she should be so shocked.

"We had, of course, heard a rumour that you had married a person of your household, but the way that rumours fly--one did not know whether to trust it," said Mr Southbrooke to cover his wife's confusion. "How very...original."

"Thank you," said Childermass, clearly deliberately usurping the compliment.

"Well, congratulations on your union," said Mrs Southbrooke. "Timothy, perhaps we had best be leaving?"

"Yes, yes, we have another engagement. Congratulations. Many happy returns."

With a flurry of confused goodbyes, they departed.

"Well," said Mr Norrell with some satisfaction, "Had I known that was all it would take to stop them prying, I would have done it years earlier."

"It will not stop them prying, but it will give them something to think about," said Childermass, flinging himself down in a chair. "We'll be having others presently, I suspect, so you may as well sit down."

Mr Norrell heaved a great and put-upon sigh. "I should have had another cup of tea."

Everyone in the vicinity seemed to want to come and congratulate Mr Norrell upon his happy occasion. Mr Norrell noticed none of them seemed to want to offer Childermass any congratulations. They mostly seemed to be disconcerted by him. This was an effect Childermass gave so often that Mr Norrell suspected it must be cultivated. Ordinarily, he might have complained, but Mr Norrell didn't like any of his neighbors. They never minded their own business, they insisted on visiting every quarter, they wanted to see his library. He had sometimes had to become quite inventive with finding excuses for making them leave politely.

Therefore, it was thoroughly satisfying to watch them be lead into the parlour, Lucas announcing "Mr Norrell and husband," and watch their faces fall when they perceived only Childermass.

When the rush had eased, Childermass said "You begin to get an idea of what it'll be like in London."

"Do you think I'll have as many visitors as that?" said Mr Norrell, frowning.

"And more besides, perhaps, but I meant their opinions of your choice of spouse."

"Oh, that," said Mr Norrell dismissively. "No one will know you by sight, so they won't know you were my man of business. If someone pries, what will they say? That I married beneath myself?"

"Without even the excuse of wanting to save your name," said Childermass quietly.

Mr Norrell shrugged. "If we behave in a quiet and respectable manner, I do not see that there can be any trouble."

Childermass raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The crush of visitors had eased, and it was growing dark, which reminded Mr Norrell of another concern.

"I suppose you had best move to a better bedroom."

"Not much point, when we're going to London so soon."

"I can't let you sleep in a servant's room, when you are now master of the house. Well, one of them."

Childermass gave him a look. "I'm no different than I was and I'm not too proud to sleep in the attic for another week."

"At least take one of the guest rooms. It needn't be made into yours."

"Sir--"

"Oh!" said Mr Norrell, remembering suddenly, "You ought not call me that either. And I ought not call you Childermass." He frowned. He couldn't call his own husband by surname alone even if it did stay the same surname. It wouldn't be apparent that they were married, and that would give the wrong impression.

"We ought to have worked all this out in the marriage articles," said Childermass with a little twist of his mouth. Mr Norrell decided right then and there that Childermass would always be _Childermass_ in the privacy of Mr Norrell's head even if he had to be John elsewhere. "Please don't make me move rooms yet. I'm comfortable where I am."

Mr Norrell conceded the point. "Very well, Ch-- Mr Chi-- John. I suppose it should be John."

"Aye," said Childermass, "and you're to be Gilbert."

Mr Norrell shrugged. "I've never liked it very much, but I suppose it will do." He paused to look out the window. Night was falling. He stood before the man who now owned half his household, who now was, legally, half his life. "I think I shall retire to bed. It has been a very strenuous day."

Childermass nodded. "Goodnight, Gilbert."

"Goodnight, John."

 

The combined forces of lagging visitors and packing for London made most other discussions about their new status impossible. Childermass had gone to buy a house earlier in the month, and now it was secured, but all sorts of correspondence had to be written at the last minute so that it would be ready. Mr Norrell spent a great deal of his time choosing which books he would bring; there was the balance of which ones were crucial to his practice versus which ones were safest to remove from Hurtfew. These lists were more or less opposite, so he had to compromise. Childermass stayed in his attic bedroom, and Mr Norrell thought no more about it.

The second night in London, once they had settled and slept off their travel, they seemed to come to the shared conclusion that they could not put the long-postponed wedding night off any longer. They met each other in the hall, going to each other's rooms.

Childermass twisted the corner of his mouth up.

"Come into mine, then," said Mr Norrell. "The bed is bigger. And you are more dressed, so you can travel the halls freely."

As Childermass came in, he bumped his candle against the wall, nearly upsetting it, and then banged his shin against the washstand. It was the nearest to openly nervous that Mr Norrell had ever seen him, and it made Mr Norrell feel a little better. If even Childermass was anxious, perhaps his own fear was natural.

They sat on the bed, candles on the night-stand. Neither of them seemed to want to make the first move.

"I've never--" began Mr Norrell. He pressed his lips together, embarrassed.

"I have," said Childermass. "Don't be frightened. It won't hurt."

"Well," said Mr Norrell uncertainty. He did know the particulars of the act in a detail that could best be described as clinical, but applying that knowledge to this moment, with Childermass, was another story. Was it ridiculous to be his age and still not know precisely how to move from sitting in bed with someone to being joined with them? He had an idea of what should be done, but not an idea of how to make his own body do it. There was an inexplicable remove.

He wondered why Childermass had come to him in shirtsleeves, and not his nightshirt. Was he self-conscious? With a queer shock, Mr Norrell realized he had never actually seen Childermass in shirtsleeves before, and now he was about to see him undress. Or very probably.

He felt inexpressibly shy of the shape of Childermass's arms, just visible through the worn sleeves of his shirt. Of the thought of Childermass's bare calves, soon to be revealed to him. He felt neither a desire for the sight nor a distaste for it; mostly, he felt ignorant. How would Childermass's skin feel against his? He had only ever touched Childermass's hand. The tender place beneath his collar would be softer, and yet Norrell could not quite imagine it. He could not imagine any of it.

Childermass must have noticed this. "If you're frightened, sir, we need not do this now."

"Now and later is no different," said Mr Norrell, "only I do not know how to begin."

"Here," said Childermass, blew the candle out, and kissed him.

Mr Norrell considered this sensation. It was, he supposed, pleasant enough. The touch of Childermass's lips was gentle, and his hands on Mr Norrell's shoulders were careful. Somehow, however, he had thought there would be more to it.

Carefully, he placed his hands on Childermass's legs, and leaned in a little.

Childermass kissed him again, with the same delicacy. Mr Norrell tried to participate, but he would keep getting tangled up, not sure what to do with his mouth or with his body. If he was not careful, his tongue would intrude, and that, he felt instinctively, would be very unpleasant.

Childermass's kisses moved to his jaw, and then to his neck. This, too, was physically pleasant, but a little confusing. Mr Norrell frowned and put his hands on Childermass's waist, which seemed to be the correct way of doing things. Was he supposed to be playing a more active role in this? The kisses were a little ticklish, and Childermass's stubble a little rough. Perhaps next time he could ask Childermass to shave. He ought to do it anyway, for it was very disreputable to go about looking as though one had half a mind to grow a beard but could not decide.

Childermass's hands very gently skimmed Mr Norrell's legs, just below the level of his nightshirt. Mr Norrell wiggled a little uncomfortably. He did not particularly like the thought of being exposed, or of Childermass's hands going higher. The mild pleasantness of the neck kissing was not enough to distract him from the thought.

Childermass stopped, and lifted his head.

"Was that supposed to do anything?" said Mr Norrell.

"No," said Childermass, "But you didn't seem as though you liked it, so I thought you'd prefer I stopped."

"It was...not very much of anything," said Mr Norrell. "Are you, perhaps, doing it wrong?"

"I used to get paid for this," said Childermass a little crossly.

Mr Norrell straightened up and stiffened his shoulders. "Is that what you meant by less respectable than pickpocketing?"

"I did warn you." Childermass gave him a look. "Have you thought the better of marrying me yet?"

"Stop asking that," Mr Norrell said. He wasn't sure how to react to this new information about Childermass. It was true that a hint or two had been occasionally extended, but Mr Norrell had not seen fit to take them. Now he wished he had.

But, after all, marriage was marriage. And it had been a very long time since Childermass had come to Mr Norrell's house, so Mr Norrell decided to forget about it. Except insofar as that it settled the question: if Childermass had indeed paid for it, he must be doing it correctly. Perhaps the problem was with Mr Norrell's own body. It had a great many other dissatisfactory aspects as it was.

"Did you like it?" he asked, finally. "The physical act itself."

Childermass shrugged. "I found it rather repetitive. A way to spend a dull half-hour, perhaps, or for occasional enjoyment. Not a bad way to earn money for food if you were well-paid. Not worth the trouble if there was something more interesting to do."

"That doesn't sound anything like what people say."

"I've always thought they exaggerated, personally," said Childermass. "But perhaps you would not find it so."

Mr Norrell gave this some thought. He did not like the thought of all the fuss and messiness and bother he thought it would probably involve. In fact, now he came to thought of it, the whole business sounded thoroughly unpleasant. The kissing had not been too bad, but presumably it was necessarily a prelude to that which was unpleasant. "Our marriage is a mere formality, for the sake of convenience," he said. "Must we really go through with all that it would normally involve?"

"Not if you don't want to, certainly." Childermass shrugged. "It makes no difference to me."

"Does it not?" said Mr Norrell, feeling very glad. "I thought, perhaps--if I did not come, you would be forced to seek relief, er, elsewhere."

Childermass rolled his eyes, which seemed to do away with that idea. "I hereby release you from any conjugal duties," he said with mock solemnity.

"And I you."

"Perhaps this, too, should have been in the marriage articles. Very well, sir, if you need nothing more of me, then I will go to bed."

"Thank you, John," said Mr Norrell -- and remembering they were in private, "Goodnight, Childermass."

"Goodnight, sir."

But though they had reached an arrangement, Mr Norrell still felt unsettled. He had thought of Childermass in a new way, a way that seemed crosswise with everything Childermass had hitherto been. He had seen Childermass in shirtsleeves, and had talked to him of matters to be discussed only between spouses. In a way, despite the lack of physical act, something had been spiritually consummated. Their marriage was a little more real, a little less of a convenience, than it had been yesterday.

It was strange, and Mr Norrell did not like it. He tried to put it out of his mind and go to sleep.

 

London, alas, was primarily characterized to Mr Norrell's mind by invitations to things. There were a great many little parties, and intimate gatherings, and balls, and various other events which people kept sending to him.

"It is the season, and you are a rich man," said Childermass when Mr Norrell complained of this.

"I have come here to help the Government and not to go to parties."

"If you do not make connections, you will never be able to speak to anyone in the Government. Gentlemen in Government spend more time in parties than they do in Parliament."

"But I hate parties," said Mr Norrell, aware that he sounded like a sulky child and yet unwilling to let the point go.

"I know," said Childermass. He picked up an invitation at random. "Take this one, Lady Godestone's. She is a woman with a great many friends; among them, perhaps, someone who you wish to introduce yourself to. If you go to her soiree, she herself might introduce you to that gentleman, or to someone who knows him. If you stay here in your library doing nothing, you will never meet him."

Mr Norrell frowned a little. "Very well, then," he said. "I will go, and you must come with me."

"The invitation is addressed to Messrs. Norrell and Norrell," Childermass pointed out. "I'm not a Mr Norrell.

"None of that now. If I must go to a party, you must come with me. I refuse to go alone."

Childermass rolled his eyes. "Very well, then."

"And you must wear your good clothes. And shave."

Childermass gave him a baleful look, which restored some of Mr Norrell's equanimity. At least he wouldn't be the only one suffering.

Shaven, with his hair tied back neatly, in the best suit which Mr Norrell had bought for him, Childermass was an almost unrecognizable sight. Indeed, he had not been so grand on their wedding day. For moment Mr Norrell almost felt surprised by this handsome personage, his own husband. The sarcastic look he gave Mr Norrell as soon as he appeared, however, was purely familiar and somehow comforting.

When they arrived, the house was very crowded and hot. "This cannot be the right place," said Mr Norrell. "The invitation said that it was to be a very intimate affair, with only a few of her closest friends."

"They often say that," said Childermass, helping him inside with one hand on his elbow. "They don't usually mean it."

Mr Norrell wondered idly for a moment where Childermass had learned this, but did not doubt his knowledge of Society. Childermass, somehow, seemed to know everything. "You should have told me," he said, scowling around at the party. "It's your job to prepare me for such things."

"Nothing could have prepared you for this, it would have only made you unwilling to go," said Childermass, with annoying accuracy.

They wandered round--or, perhaps more accurately, were swept around. There was not much space for wandering. Childermass attempted to catch a servant's eye, so that they could be announced, but perhaps he had not quite achieved the trick of looking as though he belonged on a rich man's arm. Mr Norrell was much too uncomfortable to ask anyone anything. The thought of approaching someone to announce his presence was quite overwhelming.

In his time, Mr Norrell had been to one or two country balls and weddings. He usually preferred to avoid them, but in the thirtysome years he had been master of Hurtfew, he had not always been quick enough to avoid every single one. He had been expecting something like that, but in miniature, since there was less space in London. What he had got was a crowded vortex filled with people, a cacophony of voices all talking so loudly as to hurt the ears, wildly conflicting perfumes that seemed dedicated to giving the gift of a headache, jostling and rustling, and a great many little tables that somehow seemed perfectly placed to stub one's toe against.

"I don't like London," he said to Childermass.

"I'm not so fond of it myself," said Childermass, banging his shin against another table.

At length, they were swept by the motion of the party near a little alcove with a screen in front of it, behind which lay a bookshelf. It was as though it had been hidden, as though, in fact, showing books at a party was too disgraceful for words. Mr Norrell looked at the bookshelf gratefully and seized the first one he came across.

Two gentlemen stared at him, and then at Childermass.

"Why," said a small dark one immaculately dressed in black, "It's Mr Norrell! I told you that he would come!" He turned to Mr Norrell. "And you must be the husband!"

"A husband!" said his companion, with an amused arch of his eyebrow. "How very northern."[1] He was a tall man with a superior expression and an intricate waistcoat.

"I am Mr Norrell," said Mr Norrell, clutching the book tighter to his chest, as a shield against this fashionable person.

The small man looked blank. "I understood you went by Mr Childermass?"

Childermass, beside him, made a sound that was only just recognizable to Mr Norrell as disguised laughter. Mr Norrell tried to glare at him without showing either of the other two what he was doing, and failed.

"I am Mr Norrell, and this is my husband John Childermass," said Mr Norrell, swiveling round to face the small man properly.

"Oh!" said the small man. Only for a moment or two did he look off-balance. "My name is Christopher Drawlight, and this is my friend Henry Lascelles. I apologise for my mistake, sir, but you see, your husband has the wild and romantic looks one would associate with a magician." Childermass was making the disguised-laughter sound again; Mr Norrell promised himself that he wouldn't speak to him the whole carriage ride home. "But now that I see you in person, I would never make the same mistake, for you, sir, are certainly a scholar!"

Mr Norrell agreed, somewhat stiffly, that he was indeed a scholar. They all turned to look at Childermass, who had composed himself entirely and was leaning against the wall. Mr Norrell had to admit that he certainly looked more like the magician-hero of a particularly dreadful pantomime when he was all neat and tidy. In his normal clothes, he looked more like the dastardly magician-villain of one.  

"It is charming to meet you," said Drawlight at last. "I assured Lady Godestone that you would come. I was sure you would. Henry, didn't I say I was sure Mr Norrell would come?"

Mr Lascelles shrugged. "I believe I heard you mutter something to that effect."

Drawlight smiled. "Let me announce you! I am sure the other guests will be delighted to know you have arrived."

Mr Norrell and Childermass looked at each other. When Drawlight went out to announce them, they slipped away. Childermass placed a hand on the small of Mr Norrell's back to keep the party from separating them. Mr Norrell huddled close to him, avoiding the eyes of anyone who looked at him.

In the carriage, Mr Norrell really did intend not to talk to Childermass at all, but the urge to complain was simply too strong.

"That was one of the worst ideas you've had in years," he said.

"But they'll talk of you," said Childermass. "They'll remember you. You'll be invited to other parties, and you'll meet the people you need to convince. It won't happen overnight, but neither did learning magic."

Mr Norrell heaved a longsuffering sigh.

 

\--

 

1It is, of course, the bond of Thomas de Dundale and William of Lanchester on which all such unions between men and indeed between women are based. The concept was imported to the court of the Raven King from Faerie customs, which were and are less heavily-reliant on the notion of division between the sexes than Christian society has been. Most people are aware of this fact, hence the early euphemism "Faerie marriage" for the concept. By Faerie standards, however, the union between Dundale and Lanchester was not even legal; it was far too informal. They seem to have lived in a kind of common-law arrangement which was very frequent among the non-nobles at the time. Only later did this custom become formalized, and only after the Raven King's abandonment of England did it begin to migrate southward, divided as the two kingdoms no longer were.[return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

 

Childermass's prediction about the invitations was, at least, correct. Part of this was perhaps due to the friendship of Christopher Drawlight, who visited the next day and insisted on befriending Mr Norrell, whether he wanted to be befriended or no.

Mr Norrell did not object too strongly after the brief dossier Childermass had given him about Drawlight's character and potential usefulness.

It was thus that Mr Norrell and Childermass were to dine at Lord Worthington's house that very evening. Mr Norrell was grimly expecting an exhausting evening of enduring Social Business, without even the benefit of food that would agree with his digestion, but at least he would have Childermass beside him to be equally miserable. Being miserable alongside Childermass was, obscurely, better.

Drawlight was attending as well, but Mr Norrell had not wanted to bring him in the carriage, because it was bad enough to have to talk to people at the dinner, let alone before it. Childermass didn't count. Childermass wasn't People.

They arrived, and went in. The party was at the stage were people were still arriving, so you had to stand around waiting and making polite conversation. Mr Norrell longed to sit down. New people kept coming in, and being introduced. He was tired of saying that he was Mr Gilbert Norrell and this was his husband Mr John Childermass. Mr Norrell silently decried the convention that the spouse who had brought more property to the marriage had generally to be the one making the introductions each time someone else came in.

At last they were led in. Mr Norrell was trapped between a city alderman's wife and a very distinguished person from Cambridge, who studied religion. Childermass was three seats down and across, between a fashionable young lady and Drawlight. He did not look pleased, although Mr Norrell didn't suppose people who had not spent some fifteen years in company with him would have noticed this.

The fish was in a curious curry sauce that Mr Norrell gloomily predicted would leave him with a stomach-ache by the end of the evening, but the soup was an inoffensive clear broth. The distinguished Cambridge professor was talking to him of religion.

"I understand that you are a magician, Mr Norrell?" he said in a pleasant Norfolk kind of voice.

Mr Norrell said that he was.

"A theoretical magician, I suppose?" 

Mr Norrell said that he was a practical magician.

The city alderman's wife said, "Oh! Can you tell our fortunes, sir?" in a thrilled tone, and Mr Norrell decided he disliked her.

The Cambridge professor intervened. "My dear lady, telling fortunes is the darkest and wickedest sort of magic. I am sure a respectable man like Mr Norrell would never engage in such practices."

"It is not by any means dark or wicked," said Mr Norrell, "but it never works."

Across the table, Childermass snorted. Mr Norrell gave him a stealthy glare. "Magic cannot predict the future," said Mr Norrell firmly.

"But it can tell interesting things about the present," said Childermass.

"Well, of course," said Mr Norrell. "But that is hardly fortune-telling, is it?"

"It depends on what you mean by fortune-telling," suggested Childermass.

Mr Norrell settled himself and said "Well! If we are to argue terminology, certainly there is a fruitful discussion to be had. The word  _ fortune _ could be said to refer exclusively to the future, but regarding such matters as, for example, 'where is my lost ring', the use of divination might be of some merit. But is it then fortune-telling? One often sees the phrase used more in connection with a methodology than with a goal."

"But," said the Cambridge professor in a slightly bewildered way, "I had understood that the gift of fortune-telling was given to Merlin by the Devil, his relative, and that ever since any one who wanted to tell fortunes had to ask the Devil for aid."

Childermass and Mr Norrell gave different but equally derisive snorts.

"That's a foolish and ill-founded notion," said Childermass.

"It's true that Merlin was half infernal," said Mr Norrell, "And certainly some degree of his magic derived from that connexion, but he never passed his methods along to any Englishman. English methods of divination are likely from the practices of the common folk at the time of the Raven King. But they do not work anymore."

"Allegedly," said Childermass. "But the division between the practices of the court and the practices of the common people is perhaps too sharply drawn."

"That is a different question entirely," said Mr Norrell.

"But I say," said the Cambridge professor, "practical magic is held to be a very wicked discipline. Did the Raven King not own a kingdom in Hell?"

Mr Norrell remembered that clergymen were famous for not getting along with magicians. "Practical magic is no more wicked than natural philosophy. Indeed, magic is, in its way, a form of natural philosophy."

"Yet we do not have any practical magicians at Cambridge!"

"That is my purpose in London," said Mr Norrell proudly. "Practical magic has much fallen out in these latter days, since the Raven King removed himself from these shores. My idea is that it should be brought back and made systematic. Modern."

"Modernity leaves much to be desired," said the city alderman's wife. This was a very un-city-aldermanish thing to say as far as Mr Norrell was concerned. "The ways of the Raven King, surely, are best? As a practical magician I'm sure you have the highest opinion of the Raven King."

"I have no opinion of him," said Mr Norrell. "I prefer not to think or speak of him at all."

"Now that is quite extraordinary," said the Cambridge professor. "I never yet met a magician who had no opinion of the Raven King."

Mr Norrell began to wish that he had not brought up the subject. He gave a vague murmur to avoid having to take his turn in the conversation.

"I think all magic should be based on the magic of the Raven King, isn't he the father of English magic?" said the city alderman's wife. 

"Well, in a manner of speaking," said Mr Norrell, twiddling his fork and prodding at a harmless potato. He wished he had not come. He felt dreadfully alone, and dreadfully misunderstood. 

Childermass said, "The Raven King's legacy is, of course, difficult to be sure of given the lack of extant documentation."

Mr Norrell looked up. That was not what Childermass usually said at all. He felt sure that Childermass was rescuing him from this morass and seized the opportunity to be obtuse and scholarly. "Indeed, the lack of real documentation from the Aureates is to be regretted. We live, alas, in sadly fragmented times."

The city alderman's wife, perceiving that the conversation was about to become too intellectual for dinner again, hastily said something about old castles and what they revealed about the life of Man in the Previous Era, and the conversation passed along to other matters of tourism and romantic interest to which both Childermass and Mr Norrell were ill-suited to contribute.[2] 

As they climbed into the carriage to go home, Mr Norrell said "You are supposed to make me agreeable in company."

"Some things cannot be achieved."

"Now the hostess will think we were rude and she will never introduce me to anyone. You made too many cutting remarks."

"You shouldn't have brought up the Raven King."

"I regretted that as soon as I said it."

Childermass placed a steadying hand over Mr Norrell's. "Be easy, Gilbert. It will grow easier with time."

Why that hand should make him feel so much safer, Mr Norrell did not know.

 

And it did. Childermass's prediction turned out to be true in another way, too; Mr Norrell meet Sir Walter Pole. It was not through Society, but through his dreaded Relations. Still, he managed to make a connection.

A connection. Certainly one could look at it that way. Lady Pole was dead. And then, a mere few hours later, Lady Pole was alive.

By the time Mr Norrell returned to the house, it was not far off dawn. He was not surprised to find it mostly dark. He bumped his way inside, fumbling for the candle that Lucas handed to him and making his way up the dark passage. The weak candlelight reminded him of what he had just come from. 

He was shaking as he undressed and prepared himself for bed. His fingers trembled so that he could scarcely undo the buttons. He tried to school himself back into the control he had achieved a few hours earlier, but he couldn't quite manage to pack all the terror back away. There was too much of it. He was drunk now with fear, and every shadow was a fairy waiting to leap out at him and steal him away. He remembered now the untamed darkness that had frightened him so as a child.

Mr Norrell stared at his cuffs. They would not unbutton themselves. But he couldn't seem to make them work.

He sat on the bed and stared for a while, until a splutter on the candle compelled him to action. Childermass's door was next to his. Childermass would know what to do. Almost unconsciously, he rose and crossed over to Childermass's door.

At his knock, Childermass opened, as if he had not really been sleeping at all. His hair was loosely braided rather than queued, and he was in his nightshirt, legs and feet bare. It reminded Mr Norrell of their aborted attempt at intimacy. Some distant part of his mind was startled and scandalized and curious, but he was too tired to pay it any mind.

He held his wrists out. "Help me," he said.

Childermass seemed to see something in his face that warned him off asking questions. He led Mr Norrell back into his room and commenced unbuttoning things. 

After a time in this undemanding company, Mr Norrell found his shaking easing. He put his nightshirt over his head, and undressed the rest of the way beneath it.

"Better?" said Childermass, breaking the silence at last.

Mr Norrell nodded. 

"Like old times," said Childermass, presumably referring to the buttons.

Mr Norrell nodded again. He wondered if that was what he found so comforting about it. The reminder of days when everything had not been so appallingly complicated.

Childermass stood. Mr Norrell realized he was preparing to leave. This was as might be expected, and yet, suddenly, desperately, Mr Norrell feared being alone, alone in the dark with no-one to distract him from his terrors. He reached out, for what he did not know, and said "Oh, no--"

Childermass stopped and raised his eyebrows. "Would you like me to stay?"

Mr Norrell nodded again. And, after all, he thought, why not? They were married. It was a perfectly respectable thing to share a bed with one's husband.

Childermass lay himself down beside Mr Norrell. The bed was large enough that they need not touch, but not so large that Mr Norrell was unaware of Childermass's presence beside him. He thought he had got used to this, their changed status and relationship, but Childermass by the light of a candle in nothing but his nightshirt, in bed beside Mr Norrell, was an entirely different matter. Strange, and tender, and disquieting. Childermass had always only been Help before the night they had come to London, but now he was a man. And here he was again in Mr Norrell's bed. Something was happening in the way that Mr Norrell thought of him, but Mr Norrell was not sure what it was.

At least, he supposed, it was a distraction from his fears. The fear of the dark was receding by the moment, leaving in its place a kind of restless tiredness that demanded sleep and frustrated it at the same time. 

"You may put out the candle," said Mr Norrell wearily. Childermass, at least, might sleep, and besides, it would then be too dark to see the open neck of his nightshirt. 

In the darkness, Mr Norrell wondered if he was falling in love. He stole a sideways look at the shrouded form of Childermass, his hair a dark and tangled mass swept back from his face, his skin a barely visible gleam here and there, his nightshirt a ghostly-pale shape mostly hidden by the bed clothes. 

He did not think so. What he felt was, somehow, more alien than that. It was not the hot rush that poets went on about, nor the powerful lusts that were supposed to characterize love affairs. It was more the growing awareness that Childermass was a being of flesh, not air and darkness, and that he was Mr Norrell's now. It made him awkward, too conscious of himself, too conscious of Childermass, but he didn't think he ought to characterize it as love.

Mr Norrell was distracted from these musings by a flicker of shadow in the darkest corner of the room. He froze and watched it, expecting it to be the fairy, or some enemy and rival magician come to do him harm. Was there time to fumble for the candle? Would he make it in time? There was another flicker, and perhaps that was another motion. One step closer--

"Sir," said Childermass in a sleepy voice. "You've gone tense and twisted the bedclothes up."

"You're not supposed to call me that," whispered Mr Norrell, too terrified to say anything that was not pure reflex.

Childermass seemed to wake up a little more. "In private I'll call you anything I like. What's wrong?"

Mr Norrell told Childermass his fears, with a shade of defiance. He knew, after all, that they sounded absurd for a grown man, but he was not being foolish or spinning castles in the air. He had his reasons.

"And what reasons would those be?" said Childermass, but not as though he was skeptical. More as though he wanted to know. "You've never feared fairies in all the time I've known you."

Mr Norrell realized his mistake. What was he to tell Childermass? He scrambled for some lie, something that would explain his behavior. But what was there, except the truth? 

"I have done a terrible thing," he burst out -- though not without a hint of pride for he was, after all, the first man to summon a fairy in hundreds of years. He told Childermass of the dead girl, and the fairy, and the bargain, and the fairy's horrible knowingness, his comment regarding the second magician. Childermass listened quietly, as he always did when Mr Norrell was telling him of some trouble, the way he did when he was thinking of solutions.

"Well," said Childermass, "You seem to have managed it quite neatly, though I always heard you say that fairy-magic was a terrible risk."

"It is," said Mr Norrell. "A dreadful risk. Very dangerous to the magician and to the subject. But what was I to do? When would such an opportunity occur again? And after all, I am sure that any one would prefer half a life to no life."

"If jumping at shadows for a day or two is the worst of it, I dare say you'll have been lucky," said Childermass. "Still, you ought to sleep tonight. No doubt you'll be wanted in the morning."

"Aye," said Mr Norrell, "But I cannot. Perhaps if I rise and do a little work."

Childermass shrugged. "I have a better solution, if you'll allow it."

"What is it?"

Childermass, with the same practical and sensible air that he used when replacing books, gathered Mr Norrell up in his arms and embraced him. Mr Norrell squawked at the indignity of this. A grown man! To be coddled! The disrespect!

But after a moment, he realized that it did, indeed, help. The tangibility it lent Childermass's presence in the room robbed the dark of its power to frighten. His breathing slowed and synced to Childermass. The pressure of the embrace, too, made him feel safe, as if covered by a heavy extra duvet. There was something awfully soothing about the smoke-and-clean-skin smell of Childermass.

"Curiously effective," said Mr Norrell, snuggling closer a little nervously.

"Got a lot of practice when one of my younger brothers and sisters had a nightmare," explained Childermass.

Mr Norrell was torn between bewilderment at the thought of Childermass comforting a child, curiosity about his family, and further outrage about being treated like a sibling. Curiosity won out. "I did not know you had brothers and sisters."

"I've never told you. Besides, they weren't blood, they were foundlings my mam took in."

"Oh," said Mr Norrell. This only paved the way for a flood of other questions, but he found himself too tired to ask them. In the morning, he thought. That jolted him a little: would it be thought scandalous for Childermass to be found here, when the maid came in with tea? But no. Perhaps a little odd, given that they kept separate bedrooms, but not scandalous. It was safe.

With that thought, he gave himself leave to fall asleep. And, very slowly, with many false starts, still tight in Childermass's arms, he did.

 

Until Jonathan Strange, Childermass had been quite convinced Mr Norrell was incapable of falling in love.

Some people were. Childermass had once thought himself among their number. He'd never heard Mr Norrell speak of any person he'd cared for, nor seen him express a wish for one. If he'd been in love with anyone, it was probably the Raven King, and that ship had sailed long ago.

But then there was the other magician.

Childermass watched the two of them talking in an animated way during their second meeting, then turned to Mrs Strange and nodded at her. "As the surplus spouses, we may as well leave them to it."

Mrs Strange smiled at him. She was a pretty young woman with dark hair and likeable manner -- so much the worse for Mr Norrell. They went out into the drawing-room to fortify her with tea.

"It's very good that he's found an occupation," she said as she sat down. "He was very idle before, and I do not think that a good way for a gentleman to live."

Childermass murmured a vague assent. He knew how to make friends with the spouses of important men, and he decided that a friendship with Mrs Strange would be a very useful thing to cultivate.

"Have you been married to Mr Norrell for very long, Mr Childermass?"

"No, not so very long. Only just since he came to London."

"Nor I to Jonathan." Mrs Strange settled herself comfortable. "I suppose at your age, adjusting to a new person is very much more difficult." 

This, Childermass decided, was not meant to be a slight. He wondered if Mrs Strange knew the story. "I knew Mr Norrell for a very long time before we were wed. I was his steward in certain matters for some sixteen years."

"Oh!" said Mrs Strange, her eyes sparkling. "How very romantic." Not snobbish then, thought Childermass. "I suppose you're quite accustomed to his little habits."

"He has many," said Childermass. "And did you know Mr Strange for very long?"

"He was a great friend of my brother's. I really don't know how he came to fall in love with me, since he knew me as a girl. I used to catch crickets and put them in his and Henry's boots at the time."

Now that was an image Childermass relished. He decided he liked Mrs Strange. "You must have a very lively sister."

"That's not how my brother would put it, but I thank you. I fear I may be temporarily widowed, however. When Jonathan gets a thing into his head, he won't be shaken from it until he's good and ready. I suppose Mr Norrell is the same?"

"Yes, and so we must bear our widow-and-widowerhoods together."

"It will probably be good for them, and, after all, one doesn't want one's husband constantly at home, getting underfoot when one is trying to work."

Childermass agreed, although in a cursory kind of way. Mr Norrell was not prone to getting underfoot. He was a predictable man, with predictable routines.

Which had just been overturned by the introducing of a new magician into their household. Childermass had not the faintest clue how this was going to affect the future. But he did know that things were not going to be the same.

 

It was four o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon when Mr Norrell realized he was in love.

The occasion was a lesson with Strange, who was progressing very quickly in his understanding of magic--much more quickly, thought Mr Norrell with pride, than Mr Norrell had been able to. Of course, Strange had guidance in the form of Mr Norrell. Still, he was a remarkable man, a very remarkable man. Mr Norrell was very happy he had come forward. For what would he do without Strange?

He was expressing a moderated view of this position to Strange, to wit that Strange was doing very well in his studies and contributing very greatly to the war effort. Strange's face, which Mr Norrell had not thought particularly handsome, was suddenly lit for a moment with warmth and pleasure. Mr Norrell wondered how he could not have seen before that it was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. He forgot what he had been going to say next. Strange went back to the paper he was studying, but Mr Norrell could not focus. He realized all the terrible lightness he had been feeling since Strange came to study with him had coalesced while he wasn't looking, and now he couldn't make it dissolve.

"Sir?" said Strange, who had said something to him.

"What did you say, Mr Strange? I'm afraid I was woolgathering."

Strange repeated the question, something to do with magic rings. Mr Norrell tried to forget his disturbing revelation, but he couldn't, and consequently he gave a rather distracted answer. Childermass was watching them both from the corner of the library; he had an expression on his face that said he knew exactly what kind of wool Mr Norrell had been gathering. Well, he would, thought Mr Norrell bitterly. He always did know things.

Mr Norrell passed the rest of the lesson in a distracted state and then fled to the drawing room with a cup of chocolate for some peace. There were things to do, there were always things to do, but he needed to think.

After about three-quarters of an hour, the sound of Childermass's careful, sealegged footfalls warned Mr Norrell that he was not alone. He wasn't sure whether to be glad of that or not. 

Mr Norrell knew now that he was not in love with Childermass. Love hurt awfully, and what he felt for Childermass didn't hurt. He was not frightening, or thrilling; his presence was not a revelation or a terror; he was simply Childermass.

"Well," said Childermass, sitting down beside him, "If you haven't drunk your chocolate, it must be bad." 

Mr Norrell put his head in his hands. He didn't want to look at Childermass; Childermass wouldn't laugh at him, but there would be an understanding in his face that would be too overwhelming to bear. "I don't like this," he said.

"I know," said Childermass.

"How long have you known? That I--"

"Longer than you have," said Childermass. 

Mr Norrell made a frustrated noise. "Why do people consider this a positive experience? What possible benefits could it have?"

Childermass shrugged. "Most people enjoy sentimentality. And most people have an experience of love which includes success."

Mr Norrell snorted in disgust.

After a moment, Childermass said, "Have you thought the better of marrying me yet?"

Mr Norrell's hands slid over his face. "Even were I free, he is not."

"And yet," said Childermass. Mr Norrell could smell and hear that he was lighting his pipe. 

"And yet," admitted Mr Norrell, "And yet I wish--" He did not say any more. He did not need to. Childermass pressed one silent hand to his shoulder, a gesture of friendship or comfort, perhaps a gesture of solidarity. Perhaps he had known this pain. 

They sat together in the drawing-room for a long time, while the fire died down. At length Mr Norrell looked up, and saw that Childermass looked thoughtful, that there was no pity in his face.

"What are you thinking of?" said Mr Norrell.

Childermass exhaled smoke for a moment. "I trying to think of a way to get you what you want without scandal or recrimination."

For a moment, Mr Norrell's hopes soared, until reality restored itself. "It can't be done."

"It can't," said Childermass, fiddling a little with his pipe. "Not that I can see. But I will continue to think on it."

"Why?" said Mr Norrell. "It's not to your advantage that I should transgress the bonds of our marriage by committing adultery."

Childermass's long twisted smile crept up the side of his face, though there was no amusement in it. "We married so that you would be respectable, and so that I could help you in places where you could not otherwise have taken me. Our marriage has no bonds to transgress in that respect."

Mr Norrell felt uncomfortable with this description. "I did not marry you intending to be faithless," he said.

"I know, sir. But you find yourself in love, and I only ask that you be sensible about it. If I think of a way to make it safe, I will tell you, and I will arrange it."

Mr Norrell nodded miserably. He still did not understand why Childermass would offer. Even if he did not mind Mr Norrell's contemplated affair, why should he go to trouble to facilitate it? What did it matter to him if Mr Norrell was miserable in a way that didn't compromise his magic? It was true that it had always been Childermass's job to smooth over any little inconvenience -- or indeed any big one -- in Mr Norrell's life, but he was not now being paid for that duty. He could easily have ignored it. Mr Norrell was much too embarrassed about it to chafe Childermass about it the way he generally did with things that annoyed him.

But he didn't ask Childermass why. It would be easier to forget the whole thing.

 

Childermass never did find a way. They discussed possibilities a time or two, but Childermass reminded him that there was Mrs Strange to consider. "You cannot do any thing which would harm her, sir. It would be unforgivable."

Mr Norrell conceded that it would be unwise, although he didn't understand Childermass's regard for Mrs Strange. Besides, he was by no means sure that Strange had any interest in men at all. In fact, he told Childermass gloomily, he thought it could not be the case; he was too fond of his wife, and also he was southern.

"He was in public school," Childermass pointed out.

"That is no indication. So was Mr Lascelles."

Childermass raised his eyebrows very greatly at this statement, but did not pursue it. 

Strange went away to war; Childermass comforted Mr Norrell in his odd sideways manner, which was to argue with him in order to distract him and to find out for him everything Strange was doing in the Peninsula. Mr Norrell was very glad to have him.

At long last, Strange came back, and Childermass retreated into the background again. Mr Norrell did not wonder about this; he did not find it odd. Besides, Childermass still came with him to events, and sat in the corner with him while neither of them danced. He got into arguments with ministers. In short, he thoroughly established himself as Mr Norrell's spouse, without quite stepping out from the background.

In a distant way, Mr Norrell felt proud of him. He was proud to have a spouse as unsociable as himself, who would suffer through events beside him. There was something very comforting indeed about Childermass there through all the difficulties of being the first magician of England. Mr Norrell did not know what it was that made him glad to bring Childermass along to grand balls and tedious dinner parties. 

Indeed, frequently he came to meetings with ministers and various important personages. Since he was very learned in magical law and other such important secondary issues, he was very useful to have along.

The Duke of Devonshire had once attended a meeting in order to gain Mr Norrell's advice regarding the question of fraudulent magicians. Mr Norrell had been very eager to give it, for this was an issue he was much concerned with.

"We must stamp them out, of course. They can't be allowed to continue to besmirch the name of magic. That you have thought to ask me is very good indeed. Perhaps I could lay a curse."

"Impractical," interrupted Childermass. "Unless you had the name of each magician; if you laid a curse on everyone claiming to be a magician, you might draw in too many people. And as for going name-by-name, it would take too much time, you know it would. If you--"

"What if I gave you a list of all of the magicians in the area? Could you curse them then?"

Mr Norrell glared at the duke. "Excuse me. My husband was speaking. You were saying, John?"

Childermass proposed a legal scheme for running fortune-tellers and other such unsavory types out of the city limits, which worked very well.

His usefulness in practical matters aside, Mr Norrell supposed it must be that he still liked having someone else to suffer beside him. Or perhaps it was that Childermass really did cut a fine figure, despite his bad posture and complete lack of respect for most of the people at most of the events. Or perhaps it was the fact that Childermass could always tell when Mr Norrell needed to leave, and was particularly good at coming up with excuses.

Mr Norrell began, in a vague way, to like having a husband.

\--

_Footnote:_

2Later that night, Lady Worthington was heard to say to her husband that she had not thought Mr Norrell and Mr Childermass very well suited when she had first met them, but that her opinion had now  _quite_ changed. [return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

It was a gloomy afternoon in February when Mr Norrell's hopes died.

Or, no: Mr Norrell had not had any hopes. It was a gloomy afternoon in February when Mr Norrell's one source of happiness ceased to exist.

After Strange left their final tea together, he shut himself in his study with books that were meant not to remind him of Strange. Unfortunately, magic itself now reminded him of Strange. The Language of Birds could offer only slim consolation, but it was better than nothing. He read from the moment the door closed, past supper, on into the night. No doubt there were ministers coming to call; they would have to wait. He did not stop. When he finished The Language of Birds, he picked up Sutton-Grove -- but that reminded him too much of their lessons. He picked up Martin Pale's chief work -- but that reminded him of Strange's great admiration for Martin Pale. At long last, he picked up an indifferent biography of Maria Absalom, and began to read that.

It must have been getting on for midnight when he heard the door click open. Only Childermass had the key.

"Go away," he said without looking up from the book.

"You can't hide in here the rest of the night," said Childermass, sitting down in a chair in defiance of orders.

"Why not?"

"You'll have things to do tomorrow."

"I am not doing magic tomorrow. I am taking a leave of absence for a day or two. Tell all the visitors that."

"I have. But tomorrow you'll need to get up, and put your books back, and begin to think of what you will do next. Mr Lascelles will demand to see you so that he can tell you what he wants to do next--unhelpful though it may be. You know he doesn't like it when I tell him to go away."

"That's because you're very rude about it."

"'Bugger off' has a pleasing directness and strength of character."

Mr Norrell put the book down at last. "I don't want to see you, him, or anyone, unless--" he had been going to say by habit "Unless Mr Strange visits," his usual instruction for when he didn't want to interact with the rest of humanity. He stopped, and his eyes closed tightly.

Childermass gave him a few moments. "You'll be better for sleep," he said when Mr Norrell was more composed.

"I don't want to sleep."

"I know, but you'll be better for it nonetheless."

Mr Norrell supposed that his bedroom was more comfortable to be miserable in than the study. He clutched the indifferent biography of Maria Absalom to his chest and rose.

Childermass offered his arm, just as if they had been going in to dinner. He took it, because he felt too weary and too heavy to walk without something to brace on. Besides, there was that inexplicable sense of safety that Childermass's nearness and the smell of him brought. Familiarity, perhaps. Mr Norrell felt that the world was tearing itself apart, and familiarity was much to be cherished.

In the bedroom, without asking, Childermass began to help him undress. He knew through long experience that when Mr Norrell was tired or upset, his coordination was poor and he struggled with buttons and buckles. That must have been why he was so gentle in kneeling to help Mr Norrell off with his shoes, in unfastening the cuffs of his breeches.

Mr Norrell stared at Childermass, so careful with him, so cognizant of his needs. He suddenly wanted Childermass to embrace him again. Carefully, he reached out to touch Childermass's shoulder, hoping that this would be enough.

Childermass looked up, his eyes guarded. He pushed his hair out of his face, and rose a little. Seated on the bed, Mr Norrell's head was just level with Childermass's as he stood on his knees, back straight.

What would it be like to kiss him now?

He would never have this with Strange. No one but Strange was desirable, but no one but Childermass was trustworthy. Would it be different than it had been that first time, now that they had been married for longer? Perhaps that had been Mr Norrell's mistake.

Perhaps it would make Mr Norrell forget about Strange.

Perhaps Mr Norrell could pretend it was Strange.

He leaned forward and kissed Childermass's cheek clumsily, because that was the safest way to ask.

Childermass swayed where he knelt, and braced his hands on Mr Norrell's thighs. He looked at Mr Norrell, his dark eyes wide with suspicion and uncertainty. "Sir?"

"Please," said Mr Norrell. 

Childermass drew in his breath sharply and kissed Mr Norrell on the mouth. It was less coordinated than the last effort had been, maybe because of the difficult positioning. Maybe because of its surprising fierceness, which Mr Norrell was unable to account for. It was as though this was something Childermass had been waiting for, but since Mr Norrell hadn't known he was going to do it, that couldn't be the case.

He put his hand on Childermass's waist, so Childermass wouldn't fall, and kissed him again. The rhythm of it was more pleasing this time; there was a back-and-forthness to it that made it easier. With a little practice, perhaps it could be very good. 

Another kiss, with Childermass clutching Mr Norrell's legs hard. Why did he seem so desperate? Was he angry that Strange had stolen what should have been his? Mr Norrell had never thought of him as especially jealous or grasping. But his hands were tight, as if he did not want Mr Norrell slipping away.

They kissed again, and Mr Norrell felt pleased that his predictions had been correct. He was relaxing a little, forgetting about his heartache, though not about Strange. But with a sudden wrench, Childermass pulled away. Mr Norrell grabbed for him too slowly; with a quick push he was on his feet and too far away to be touched.

Mr Norrell blinked at him.

"You'd regret it," said Childermass.

"I wouldn't."

"Were you thinking of him?"

Mr Norrell was silent.

"It'll be all right, sir. You'll forget. Perhaps, yet, you'll find someone else." Childermass did not sound as though he believed this; he did not sound very normal at all. Perhaps he really was angry. "You get some sleep now, and you'll face tomorrow easier."

Mr Norrell turned away, angry and ashamed, to finish undressing himself as best he could. Childermass was gone by the time he looked up.

They did not speak of it the next day.

 

Mr Norrell was terrified.

Mr Norrell was furious.

The two emotions were warring wildly in his breast as he watched the doctors bandage the bullet wound in Childermass's shoulder.

He had been assured that the wound was not fatal in and of itself; if it healed clean and did not fester, they had said, Childermass would be well in a few weeks. 

Nevertheless, Childermass might die. 

Childermass  _ must _ not die.

There was far too much for him to do, and to answer for, and to explain.

He intended to sit beside Childermass's bed until he woke, but he couldn't bear it. It was awful, it was sickening, to watch Childermass, who was always so alert and so competent and so watchful, helpless in bed. To watch pain pass across his face, to watch him mouthing something Mr Norrell couldn't make out. Was he having nightmares? Mr Norrell couldn't understand why the thought of that pained him so very badly. He was alive, so why should it matter if he had nightmares?

He retreated, trembling, to the library, with orders to tell him when Childermass woke.

Late in the night, though, he returned to the bedside. Childermass had grown a little more peaceful, probably under the influence of the laudanum he'd been given. He slept with a heaviness that was wrong for him. He was still not quite himself. It was as if the wound had stolen a part of him, and he had not yet grown it back.

Mr Norrell watched him for a long time.

It was three days later when he woke. Mr Norrell was summoned to his bedside and saw Childermass's eyes opening blearily, his breathing laboured. Each new sign of pain seemed to draw claws through Mr Norrell, although he still couldn't understand why. He wanted to tell Childermass that he must not die. He wanted to tell Childermass he needed him. He wanted Childermass to suddenly waken properly and be by his side; he wanted to lay down in the bed beside Childermass and place his arms around him, the way Childermass had done with him. He wanted to ask Childermass why, why, why he had let himself be shot.

What came out, in a furious tone that contained all the emotion Mr Norrell didn't want to express, was: "Why were you performing Belasis' Scopus? Who taught it you?"

Childermass blinked again. "You did, before we were married and came here. And I was performing it because there was magic everywhere."

"Don't be foolish." Mr Norrell sat down hard in the chair beside the bed. That was Childermass, properly Childermass, tired but living. Mr Norrell found his hands shaking. He pressed them together hard. "Magic. Who would have been performing magic? I wasn't, and Mr Strange is not in London."

"It wasn't your magic anyroad up," said Childermass. "It seemed to come from that woman who shot me."

"Lady Pole, it was. I intend to see her hanged."

"Lady Pole? Why should she want to shoot you? What is that fairy doing to her?"

"I don't know," said Mr Norrell. The shaking had spread, it felt, to his stomach, to his heart, so that he felt queasy and unsettled. "Not teaching her magic, I shouldn't think."

"There was magic everywhere," said Childermass again. He struggled to sit up, and began to cough; Mr Norrell fetched him a glass of water. He sat down on the bed--so that he could take the glass back up if need be, because Childermass might need something, not because he wanted to reassure himself that Childermass was still alive. Not at all.

"There can't have been," said Mr Norrell, hands very carefully in his lap, not touching Childermass. There was so much weariness in his face, lines that hadn't been there before. His skin looked soft and fragile around the edges, paler than was his wont. "It doesn't make sense."

"You should ask yourself again what that enchantment did to Lady Pole." Childermass coughed again. "Perhaps it was fairy-magic. Perhaps he's teaching it to her."

Mr Norrell was struck silent at the thought of this horror.

"You might write to Mr Strange," suggested Childermass, "and ask for his help in breaking the curse."

"I cannot, he would see me disgraced." 

"I do not think so. I--" Another bout of coughing shook Childermass. The sound of it, ragged and dry, send horror churning around Mr Norrell's stomach. What if Childermass died? He gave Childermass some more water, and their hands touched for a moment as he passed the cup on. Oh, why did that hurt too?

"It doesn't matter besides. I told you, I am going to see Lady Pole hanged for shooting you."

Childermass lay back down and closed his eyes, apparently exhausted. "Don't do that. She didn't kill either of us."

"That remains to be seen," said Mr Norrell tartly, "Supposing you die?"

"I am awake, therefore I have passed the point of danger. Gilbert, don't be a fool. If it gets around that your reputation-building act, your great miracle, created a madwoman who tried to murder you, what will that do for your reputation? And think of how Sir Walter Pole will feel about you if you have his wife executed. Indeed, think of what would happen to his reputation with the other ministers. There is no for it to turn out well."

"But she shot you," said Mr Norrell. "You almost died. I would have been alone! Mr Strange has left me and now you are going and putting yourself in front of guns and getting yourself shot! It was a foolhardy act and I am very angry with you! Do not lecture me on my reputation!"

"Sir," said Childermass, laying a hand on Mr Norrell's as if to calm him. Mr Norrell caught his breath and closed his eyes. He was behaving in a very undignified way, really. He twisted his hand a little, and laced his fingers with Childermass's; Childermass allowed this, indeed he gripped back. 

"I am alive, and I am awake," said Childermass very quietly. "You can check yourself, if you like."

"You almost weren't," said Mr Norrell. He opened his eyes but didn't dare look at Childermass's face for fear of what he would see. His other hand slid over Childermass's chest. The blanket was tucked up to the armpits, but the shoulders were bare, one tightly bandaged. This was technically more naked than Mr Norrell had ever hitherto seen him, but the circumstances were not ideal for appreciating it or even for being embarrassed. (Mr Norrell wondered angrily when Childermass without various items of clothes became something that could even hypothetically be appreciated.) His hand, almost without his conscious will, traveled up to the bare skin and touched it gingerly. It was warm, almost too warm. Oh god, was it becoming inflamed? He drew his fingers closer, but a wince from Childermass reminded him that it must have hurt.

He should put his hands back. He should stop touching. 

He moved them up, instead, towards Childermass's neck. There was no sign of the blood that had stained it, it had been washed clean. There was no scratch, no swelling there. He touched the sharpness of Childermass's jaw and found it unbroken, found the tangle of his hair just as it always had been, more or less. He had never touched it before. It was softer than he had thought, although it badly needed brushing by now. Perhaps someone could do that, while Childermass was recovering. Someone.

He met Childermass's eyes, and found them wary. Mr Norrell took both of his hands back, and placed them carefully in his lap.

"Satisfied yourself?" said Childermass. He didn't sound like himself. His breath was coming shorter than it should have. Perhaps he was tired.

"I don't know." Mr Norrell was not; he wanted to keep touching Childermass's cheek, his hair, his mouth, his chest. To see if the skin was as unexpectedly soft as his hair. To reassure himself, of course, that the rest of Childermass was whole. Childermass had made his feelings on anything else quite clear last time. "I am sorry if I hurt your wound."

Childermass gave a hiss of a laugh. "You haven't even thanked me for saving your life."

"Thank you," said Mr Norrell mechanically. "I would rather you did not get shot, in general. It is very exhausting to worry so much about you."

"It's quite tiring to get shot as well," said Childermass. There was something in his tone that didn't match the words; it was not anger, and was not sadness, not exactly. Something Mr Norrell couldn't match to his experience of how Childermass should be. Maybe he was, truly, only tired.

Mr Norrell stayed with him until he went to sleep.

 

Childermass was well again in a few weeks, and resumed his usual habits. At the moment, Mr Norrell had gone to a meeting. Why Lascelles had decided to stay behind, rather than accompany him, Childermass did not know. It was much to his annoyance that Lascelles had decided to work in the library, where Childermass liked to work at this time. But he was not going to be forced out by Lascelles' unfortunate presence. He refused to be cowed.

The trouble was that it was so very difficult to let Lascelles be. Childermass was innocently working on a letter for Mr Norrell -- marrying him had not made Childermass's secretarial duties go away, only changed the manner in which Childermass was compensated for his work -- when he looked up to find Lascelles staring at him.

"What do you want?" Childermass asked.

"Well, what I  _ would _ like is for you to address me in the manner of a superior, but if I can't have that, give me the name of that politician Mr Norrell is having an appointment with."

Childermass gave it. "Technically," he said to the writing-desk, "I am  _ your _ superior, if we're going by wealth, for Mr Norrell is richer than you and I have half his worldly goods." It was petty, he did know, but the difficulty about Lascelles was that not antagonizing him was very hard indeed. 

Lascelles stiffened. "Wealth is one thing, breeding is another. I am quite aware that you married Mr Norrell for his money, but you could at least try to disguise the fact." 

Childermass set the pen down carefully. For all the hints he'd dropped previously, Lascelles had stopped short of actually accusing Childermass of that. "You have no idea of why I married Gilbert, and you won't get one."

"I should tell him; perhaps he doesn't realize what a mistake he made in his choice of husband."

"I often ask him whether he regrets marrying me," said Childermass. "Thus far he has never said yes. Perhaps I should ask him if he regrets befriending you."

"You are unworthy of him. Your tricks do not escape my notice. Indeed, if you were a man of my own station, I would call you out," said Lascelles.

Childermass looked up from his desk, and examined Lascelles thoughtfully. "Would you?"

Lascelles frowned, as though this wasn't the response he had expected. "Excuse me?" 

Childermass stood slowly and stretched. His legs pained him a little, so perhaps he'd been sitting too long. With a sigh, he straightened himself up, and struck Lascelles cleanly and neatly on the jaw.

Lascelles went down and stayed there, apparently more from shock than pain, for he looked as surprised as if Childermass had suddenly grown a new head. For a moment, he could say nothing, his mouth working uselessly. Possibly he was too enraged to speak. Childermass leaned against the desk and waited patiently.

"You--you--you ill-bred ill-favored mangey bastard!" said Lascelles, at last pushing himself off the floor.

Childermass, who was in fact a bastard and had never been bothered by it, said "But you said you'd call me out if I was a man of your own station; as I am indeed ill-bred, I thought I would do you the courtesy of issuing challenge my way."

Lascelles, trembling with rage, struck his own blow. But skilled though he was said to be with a pistol, Childermass suspected he did not often brawl. It would have been a smart punch if it was landed, but there was plenty enough time to see it and avoid it. Lascelles hissed and fell back. 

"Mr Norrell will hear of this," he said.

"He'll hear of it from me. I am his husband, and you are only his friend." Childermass stepped away from Lascelles, and away towards the door.

"A husband who would not even take his name!"

"I have my reasons, and he knows them," said Childermass, opening the door. "Besides which, then you'd have to call me Mr Norrell. You wouldn't like that."

Lascelles gave a parting hiss of hatred, but Childermass didn't stay to hear it finished. He went to wait in Mr Norrell's office, to tell him about the incident when he returned.

"I have asked you to try to get along with him," said Mr Norrell in reproof when Childermass explained.

"He insinuated I'd married you for your money."

"Well, really. You advised me to make use of him. One insult--"

" _ Gilbert _ ," said Childermass, using Mr Norrell's Christian name out of sheer exasperation, "It wasn't one insult. He's been doing this for years. Do you want it considered that I spend your money behind your back? That you are not master of your own house, that I guide your actions behind the scenes?"

"You do guide my actions behind the scenes," murmured Mr Norrell a little rebelliously. He frowned. "How long did you say?"

"As long as you've been relying on him."

" _ I've _ never heard it."

"You never wanted to. Not hearing things that would be uncongenial to your view of the world is one of your talents."

Mr Norrell pursed his lips and sat down, a sure sign that he couldn't think of another reply. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I shall speak to him," he said at last.

"For all the good that will do," Childermass muttered.

 

Mr Norrell spoke to Mr Lascelles the very next day, in the carriage that was taking them to Parliament. As soon as they were alone with the doors shut, Lascelles burst out, "That wretched villain struck me!"

"Yes, he told me," said Mr Norrell.

"Sir, you know that I consider your judgement to be of the highest calibre, but I must say that marrying beneath you to such an extreme degree was a lapse. A distinct lapse. You should keep him under better control."

"He's not a dog," said Mr Norrell in some surprise. "I have never had any luck keeping John under control. He has been a law unto himself since long before I married him."

"That should have been a clue that it was an unwise marriage," said Lascelles.

Mr Norrell began to feel that Lascelles did not, in fact, consider his judgement to be of the highest calibre after all. "I knew perfectly well what I was doing," he said waspishly.

Lascelles seemed to soften. "Of course you did, sir. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. It's only that, as your friend, I have great concern for your welfare."

"My welfare is one thing that John never threatens -- my dignity otherwise, I admit."

"But you see, do you not, how having such a low-class and disobedient spouse has weakened your reputation? Your dignity  _ is _ your welfare; your reputation is your most important quality. What will other men say of your magic when you cannot control your own household?"

Mr Norrell weakened. It was true that if his peers did not respect him then they could not respect magic for, after all, he  _ was _ magic, English magic, proper magic. Perhaps Mr Lascelles was right--although, of course, he was not married. But then he had many friends who were, did he not?

Lascelles appeared to sense that he was closer to making the point. He leaned in, and dropped his voice. "I did not want to say, sir, for your very commendable loyalty towards your other half would prevent you from believing me. But I cannot stand by and see you betrayed. Sir, I am sure that your husband is carrying on an affair."

Mr Norrell nearly laughed. He couldn't conceive of Childermass going to all the effort simply for the purpose of congress with someone else, when he could have simply told Mr Norrell that there was someone he fancied. After all, Childermass tried to help Mr Norrell himself to take up with Strange. But then--had he done that because he felt guilty? He remembered suddenly that Childermass had always spoken in a mildly complimentary way of that magician who had not signed his agreement, Mr Segundus. Had that been why he had not signed? Had Childermass betrayed him?

"Who with?" asked Mr Norrell, nervously rubbing his hands together.

Lascelles looked sorrowful and noble, as if he had wanted to spare Mr Norrell a pain he no longer could. "With Jonathan Strange," he said.

That was an awful moment. Mr Norrell's first thought was a possessive stab of pain, not for Childermass, but for Strange. How could Childermass take the one man, the only man, that Mr Norrell himself wanted? Childermass could have had anyone, he could have had the magician Segundus, and if he had told Mr Norrell and been discreet, then no harm to either of them would have resulted. The pain was so overwhelming, so breathtaking, that he couldn't speak.

Then common sense began to reassert itself. If Childermass had indeed been interested in Strange, why would he have encouraged Mr Norrell not to give up hope in him? Why would he have even offered to help Mr Norrell? It would have been very easy, very easy indeed, to sympathise with Mr Norrell but tell him that Strange would never be safe. Indeed, it was what Mr Norrell had expected to hear. It would have been safer for Childermass, too. And when would Childermass have had time? Strange was usually in Mr Norrell's company or his wife's, and the door to Childermass's room was across from Mr Norrell's. It could not have gone undetected. 

Moreover, Mr Norrell remembered what Childermass had told him the first night together -- that congress was not particularly exciting, only fit for occasional distraction. There was no reason for him to lie about this.

"I am sure you must be mistaken," said Mr Norrell firmly. "I know you are only trying to protect me, but whatever you believe you saw, it cannot be the case. I know John very well."

Lascelles looked startled. "But he  _ struck _ me!"

Mr Norrell recalled what he had been meant to say. "I am told that he was under considerable provocation. He said that you insinuated many foul things about him. I am sure, Mr Lascelles, that this was an accident, for I know you are a very honorable man. Perhaps, though, you could take more care with his feelings in the future? He is, after all, my husband, and it causes me very great anxiety to have you two always at loggerheads."

Lascelles did not reply; he was gaping. He did not deny the foul things, which surprised Mr Norrell considerably, for he had been privately sure the whole matter had been a misunderstanding. Perhaps Childermass's assessment of Lascelles' character was more accurate than he had given it credit for.

At last, Lascelles gave a charming smile which was much more like him. "Of course," he said. "I apologize to have given you any distress. I fear my protectiveness of you was too great, and it clouded my judgement."

Mr Norrell inclined his head, and the rest of the journey was silent. There was such a lot to think of.

 

Two nights later, Mr Norrell was drifting off when the door to his room creaked open and a figure came in. Fear made him instantly alert.

"It is only me, sir," said the figure, and its voice was familiar.

"Mr Lascelles?" said Mr Norrell, struggling to sit up in the bed. "What are you doing here?"

The room was dark; Mr Norrell could not see Lascelles' face. Therefore he could not guess at Lascelles' expression when he said, "Forgive me for intruding."

"If you explain your purpose, perhaps I will," said Mr Norrell, feeling very cross at having been interrupted and given a fright when he was nearly asleep.

Mr Lascelles sat on the side of the bed. The intimacy of the gesture made Mr Norrell uneasy; Lascelles had never even been into his bedroom before. What could he possibly want?

As if he could read Mr Norrell's very thoughts, Lascelles said "I do apologise if I have made you uncomfortable. But I could not go without speaking any longer." 

He paused for so long that Mr Norrell was on the verge of prompting him again. "I see, every day, that John Childermass does not take care of you," he said. "That he does not attend to your needs, or give you the treatment that you deserve." 

Mr Norrell agreed with this last, for Childermass was very impertinent. Still, he did not know what needs Lascelles referred to, and said so.

"Your physical needs," said Lascelles.

"My what?" said Mr Norrell, frowning.

"Your...marital needs," said Lascelles. "I see that you maintain separate bedrooms--all very well, but he never visits yours, nor you his. You do not behave like men who have known each other."

"That is very personal!" said Mr Norrell, drawing the covers up over his chest.

"I know. You must forgive my impertinence." Lascelles leaned forward a little. "I would have gone forever without speaking, only--I could not fail, as your friend, to come forward. You are an honorable man; you would not go to some stranger for relief. You would not betray your husband. But, sir, consider the difference in status between you two. No doubt you could not bear to touch him because he is beneath you."

Mr Norrell did not know where to begin in correcting this misconception. "What are you proposing? To show me to some particularly upscale brothel in the dead of night?"

"Of course not. Your delicate sensibilities would blench at such a measure." Lascelles leaned forward just a little more. A faint gleam of moonlight caught his eyes, so that they shone as they met Mr Norrell's. "I am offering you relief by the hand of one whose class matches your own."

'Who?" said Mr Norrell, inadvertently looking around.

"Myself," said Lascelles.

Mr Norrell laughed in disbelief. This seemed to cause Lascelles some irritation. 

"Forgive me," Mr Norrell explained, "But I find this very difficult to credit. You are a man who has so many admirers, and you wish to waste your favor upon me? Don't be silly."

"It would not be wasted!" protested Lascelles. "I have often thought--your grave and sober bearing--your dignity--it would be a great honor and pleasure to introduce you to the arts of love."

"What makes you think I have not been introduced by someone else?" said Mr Norrell, distracted from his many other objections by this annoying assumption.

"Er, have you?" said Mr Lascelles.

"No, but that is not the point. I cannot believe you are doing this because of my personal attractions. I am a very plain man--I am aware of that, it does not trouble me. I assume it must simply be from pity, and I would rather not have that." Mr Norrell thought about being angry that Lascelles assumed he would betray Childermass in this way, but he remembered, guiltily, the conversation about Strange. "I am, of course, very flattered. Very flattered indeed. But I, er, must decline."

Mr Lascelles' face went sour and his stance changed. It frightened Mr Norrell very badly.

"I am sorry to have given you discomfort," he said, but his voice was no longer honey-sweet, it was bitter. "Perhaps you should reconsider: you are already compromised. What would Childermass say if he knew I had come here? Would he believe you refused me?"

This was such an outrageously transparent threat that it chased away Mr Norrell's fear with anger. "We will see," he said, and called "John! John! I need you!"

Lascelles rose, paced halfway to the door, and then stopped. He looked back at Mr Norrell as if unsure of whether he should place himself in a compromising position with him, or whether he should leave. Before he made his decision, Childermass had appeared.

With a great rush of relief, Mr Norrell said "Please remove Mr Lascelles from my house, John."

"Very gladly, Gilbert."

Childermass could not have done any brawling in recent years, or so Mr Norrell thought, but he still handled things very efficiently. After all, he was used to ejecting things from the house for Mr Norrell--whether impertinent politicians or mice. Besides, Mr Lascelles did not fight very much. Perhaps he didn't want to attract attention.

In short order, Childermass was back. "He's gone, and the door is locked."

Mr Norrell shivered. He did not believe Lascelles would have harmed him, but it was horrible to think he'd been thought of like that -- as someone lonely, desperate, easily to manipulate. In an instant Childermass was sat down on the bed just where Lascelles had been, only it didn't make Mr Norrell uneasy. Childermass's rough hands were very gentle as he checked Mr Norrell's face, his arms, his voice was quiet as he asked, "He did not hurt you, sir?"

"No," said Mr Norrell, although it was not true. All of Lascelles' schemes seemed suddenly laid bare to him. He would have seduced Mr Norrell and used that to drive a wedge between him and Childermass. He would have used it to convince Mr Norrell to do everything he had wanted. Had he been doing this all along? Had Mr Norrell been so blind as to misunderstand all of their interactions? He felt bereft and bewildered, as off-balance as though he had gone to sat down and missed his chair. 

Childermass saw some of it. Childermass always saw. "He is gone now, and you need not speak to him any more," he said, his hands over Mr Norrell's. 

"He will make trouble," said Mr Norrell. "He intended, I think, to separate us and make me depend on him more than you. He may not give up."

Childermass said, with quiet confidence, "And I will deal with it. I am more than a match for him."

"In a fistfight, if nothing else."

"If that's what it comes to, sir, it won't find me wanting."

"You were supposed to protect me," said Mr Norrell in a thin voice. "You told me to make use of him."

Childermass went still. Mr Norrell thought for a moment that he was angry, but he did not sound angry--or, not with Mr Norrell. "Yes. I failed that. I should have seen from the beginning that he would do us no good."

"But you didn't," said Mr Norrell. He felt close to an outburst of some emotion, tears or shivering terror, and he didn't want that. Being angry at Childermass made it easier. "You let him in, you let him become my friend, and you never said anything until you struck him. You should have told me not to trust him. You should have barred him the moment he came with Drawlight."

"I know," said Childermass. He did not, as he might have done, protest that Mr Norrell did not believe him when he finally did tell him of Lascelles' insults. He only held Mr Norrell's hands. Mr Norrell sucked in his breath and squeezed his eyes very tight.

At last, more composed, he said, "I did tell him not to insult you anymore."

"I think," said Childermass, looking at the door, "it was a little late."

"He didn't like it. He tried to tell me you were having an affair with Strange."

Childermass looked startled, and then strangely hurt in a way that most of Lascelles' insults never managed to produce. Mr Norrell didn't understand why this particular accusation was more painful than the insinuation that Childermass was too low-born to be worthy of him. But there was a strange urgency in Childermass's voice, a strange sincerity, as he said "You didn't believe him, did you?"

"Of course not. The idea is absurd." Mr Norrell bit his lip. "I did wonder, because you urged me, if perhaps someone else--"

"No," said Childermass. His hands on Mr Norrell's tightened a little: not trapping, never trapping, but pressing. "Never. You must believe me."

"I believe you. I wouldn't be angry if you told me, you know. As you said, our marriage has no bonds to transgress. I would only wish for you to be discrete and honorable, if you fell in love."

This seemed to trouble Childermass, though Mr Norrell could not understand why. Into the nighttime hush of the bedroom, his voice soft and ragged and half-wry, half-regretful, he said, "There has never been anyone but you."

Before Mr Norrell could absorb this information, before he could be sure that Childermass had meant what he seemed to be meaning, Childermass had risen, kissed Mr Norrell on the temple, and left.

 


	4. Chapter 4

They got up early to strategize the next day. Mr Norrell desperately wanted to ask Childermass whether his little comment had meant what he thought it did, but then he thought how foolish he'd look if it didn't. And why had Childermass not wanted to kiss him? Had he, in fact, been jealous of Strange?

This was an angle of Childermass's character that Mr Norrell had never once considered. Mr Norrell had not thought him capable of passion, at least for anything except magic. But then, there had been that kiss...

It was a dreadful puzzle, and Mr Norrell decided to store it away for the moment while they organized matters after Mr Lascelles' dreadful behavior. They decided that Mr Norrell would go to Yorkshire, to wait for any storm to blow over, while Childermass would stay in London to see to his affairs. In this way if Lascelles tried to smear Mr Norrell's reputation, Childermass could strike back, but as Lascelles was known very well to hate Yorkshire, he could not make any more attempts on Mr Norrell's person.

"My only worry," said Mr Norrell as they packed the essential books that he needed for a sojourn home, "is that he will try to attack you."

Childermass raised an eyebrow and shrugged elaborately.

"Don't be overconfident."

"There's nothing  _ over _ about it. By the way, you should write to Strange and ask him for help with Lady Pole's little problem."

"That again!" said Mr Norrell. "You've shut the woman away in a madhouse, I don't think she'll make another attempt on my life. And what would Mr Strange say if he knew I had hid it from him? And why would he help me when we are rivals now?"

"I don't want to risk it; if you get the curse lifted, she won't have reason to try." Childermass raised his fingers and began to tick points off on them. "As for Strange, you know him, Gilbert. He'll be angry for a day, then instantly attracted by the new problem. He'd help you because it was a challenge. If you told that you had reached an impasse and needed his help, I think he'd be flattered enough to comply."

"But my reputation, if she was free to speak!"

"Ethics aside, if you manage to free her, you can claim to have been working on it until now."

Mr Norrell hmm-d. He was inclined after the Lascelles incident to trust Childermass's judgement more than he had been. Perhaps Childermass knew that and that was why he was pushing now. "But he might not read the letter, perhaps."

"I will write to him first. I have reason to believe he will be friendlier to me."

Mr Norrell was suddenly suspicious: perhaps Mr Lascelles had been right. "Why?"

"When his wife died these two months ago, I offered him condolences. We were friends."

"What! Friends?"

"While you and Mr Strange were occupied, we often talked."

Mr Norrell was learning all sorts of new things about Childermass. It had not occurred to him that Childermass would make friends. "I suppose if he agrees then I will do it."

Mr Norrell left soon after. Childermass assisted him into the coach, gripping his hand with great care. As he handed him his stick and hat, Mr Norrell said "John? The matter of your comment?"

"What comment would that be?" said Childermass, tucking the stick inside the coach.

"Regarding...who there has and has not been."

"I am not sure what you're talking about." Childermass pressed an extra blanket beside Mr Norrell on the coach seat. 

"Oh, well, never mind," said Mr Norrell. He looked down at the blanket hopelessly. He had tried; he had been rejected. It must have been nothing. Perhaps Childermass really didn't even remember. Perhaps he had simply meant that he had never gone to bed with anyone else since he had married Mr Norrell.

Childermass gave a twisted smile, half a grimace, and finished helping Mr Norrell settle. "I'll write to you about Mr Strange."

"Yes. Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye, Gilbert."

 

Mr Norrell thought about that comment the whole first day of the trip. It was becoming inconvenient. It yet another side to Childermass he'd never had occasion to wonder about before. Childermass, Mr Norrell felt, should feel only scorn, indifference, or mild interest in other people.

But then, Mr Norrell realized with a sudden pang, Childermass had got shot for him.

That was for the cause of English magic, surely. English magic could not go on without Mr Norrell. 

But if Mr Norrell was shot, Childermass would inherit his whole estate. Grudging though Mr Norrell was to admit it, Childermass could certainly do some magic. Mr Norrell had relied on that before, had taught him a spell or two. He was bright, he was clever; if he was in possession of Mr Norrell's library, undoubtedly he could become a full-fledged practical magician. The government would not respect him, not exactly, but in time he would win them over. As the widower of the first magician in England his word would be much in demand; he could publish Mr Norrell's notes posthumously, or keep them secret and work from them. He had already seen many of them.

This was so convincing that for a moment Mr Norrell feared Childermass was sending him off to the countryside to have him murdered by highwaymen. But that was ridiculous. Every other thing aside, it would have been very much easier to let Lady Pole kill him. No suspicion would then arise.

Thus: Childermass had not saved Mr Norrell for the cause of English magic. Or not wholly. 

Thus: Childermass felt something for him that was not scorn, indifference, or mild interest. One did not seize hold of pistols in order to protect people in whom one had a mild interest.

Thus: Childermass felt something for him.

And what was that thing?

Mr Norrell did not know. And, even more terrifying, he found that he did not know what he felt for Childermass, either.

_ Gilbert, _

_ As promised, I have met with Mr Strange. He is in London on business; he is, as you know, writing a book. He is  _ most _ interested in the question of fairies and their abilities, and therefore I believe, he will help you.  _

_ John _

 

_ To Mr Gilbert Norrell, Hurtfew Abbey, Yorkshire _

_ From Jonathan Strange, London _

_ You bloody jackanapes,  _

_ All this time you've known how to summon a fairy and you never taught me. You wretched shag-bag. You rotter. That's the trouble with Lady Pole, is it? Oh, don't look as cross as I am sure you are looking. Childermass only told me that something had gone wrong with her resurrection and you had been labouring all these years to fix it and needed my help. I asked him help with what sort of magic and he said, fairy-magic. You must have summoned a fairy if it's fairy-magic you brought her back with. _

_ I am coming to Hurtfew as soon as I can wrap up my affairs. Make no mistake, I am not your pupil and I do not intend to be friends. I still believe that your direction for magic is entirely misguided. However, for the sake of an innocent woman's life, I will help you. But I want you to tell me everything you know about fairies in return. I'm  _ sure _ they must be the key to wild magic. _

_ I should like to box your ears. I will content myself to remain, however, _

_ Your equal at least, _

_ Jonathan Strange _

 

Strange had changed. He was hollower somehow, more secretive, but just as mercurial as ever. He arrived at Hurtfew on a windy night, wearing black and looking shadow-eyed. It was as if he had cloaked himself in shade and brought it into the house with him.

Mr Norrell felt the same old ache when he looked at him. It was a hopeless kind of ache, an ache tinged with endings. Also, he was very much afraid that Strange would carry out his threat to box his ears, but apparently during the journey he had forgotten all his anger, for as he came in he was focused wholly on the problem at hand.

"We must summon the Raven King!" he declared as Lucas took his cloak.

"I believe we should have dinner first," suggested Mr Norrell.

There followed a great many arguments, a great deal of standing in the library and yelling, and even more reading. They did summon the Raven King after all. Whether it worked the way it had intended was anyone's guess.

Ever afterwards, Strange insisted that the power they had summoned for the Nameless Slave, the dot of light in the silver basin, must have gone to the Raven King. For what other Nameless Slave would be in Yorkshire? What other Nameless Slave would be able to break the fairy's curse?

Ever afterwards, Mr Norrell insisted that something had gone wrong, and that it had been a different dot of light. He agreed that that the probability of another Nameless Slave in Yorkshire was low, but the light had been different.

In any case, the result was the same. Lady Pole's curse was broken. By happy chance (for Mr Strange), Arabella turned out to be not dead at all, but merely kidnapped. She, too, was removed safely home.

After she had arrived, Mr Norrell ceased to try to get sense out of Mr Strange, and wearily put them in a guest room to sort things out.

The disappearance of Sir Walter Pole's butler, Stephen Black, was remarked upon in the servant-clubs of London at the time. But no one connected it with the return of the two ladies, of course. Who would?

Mr and Mrs Strange started for Shropshire the next day. Mr Norrell supposed they wanted to be alone and in familiar surroundings. He felt much the same way himself, only, well, he did not want to be alone.

He was surprised to find that he wanted Childermass.

That was what was missing. The comforting familiarity of that presence. The utter reliability, the knowledge of being known. He wanted, not his husband, but Childermass.

Mr Norrell had not fallen out of love with Strange. The ache had not faded; it had just been stowed away for a little while. But there was no way for Strange to be his. And, besides that, it was not Strange that knew him. It was not Strange that put a hand on his back to guide him through crowds, or held him when he was so frightened he couldn't think. 

Perhaps he would grow to be friends again with Strange now. And perhaps he wouldn't. But Childermass would be there regardless, always. He was an anchor. 

Suddenly, desperately, Mr Norrell wanted to see him. He wanted to be embraced by him. He wanted to smell his pipe-smoke and be able to reach across to hold his hand. 

Had he fallen in love with Childermass while he wasn't looking? It was difficult to be sure. The feelings weren't the same, weren't that hard and undissolvable point of light, that sense of excitement and potential, the newness, the cold and bracing wind. They were a warm low glow instead, a firelight evening. The exact feeling of peace and contentment you felt when sitting with slippers and a cup of tea, opening an old familiar favorite book. Perhaps that was enough.

 

_ John, _

_ By now you will know that we were successful. No doubt you expect me to return to London, but I find that I would like to stay in Hurtfew for a little while. Can it be managed? The ministers who have duties for me may write to me here, and I will be able to perform them. There is, after all, not currently any war on. Nothing can require my physical presence.  _

_ If feasible, come as soon as you can. I need your help. _

_ Gilbert _

 

Childermass arrived before any return letter could. He must have ridden hard all the way to Yorkshire, and he had brought almost nothing with him save what could be fit in saddlebags.

"You'll catch your death like that, it's only February," said Mr Norrell.

"You complete and utter idiot," said Childermass.

"Why does everyone berate and insult me lately?" complained Mr Norrell.

"You should have written to me before you tried it."

"There wasn't time."

"You could have been captured or killed."

"And yet I wasn't." Mr Norrell frowned. "Now look what you've done. You've distracted me in a most callous and unpardonable fashion."

Childermass came inside and took his coat off, shaking himself as a dog will to get the water off. It was only drizzling lightly out, but he must have been in it for hours. "What have I distracted you from this time?"

"Something very important I must tell you. Incidentally, I concede to you on one minor issue regarding the Raven King--"

"What?" said Childermass. 

Mr Norrell explained, which caused a further distraction from what he had wanted to say. Childermass had a dozen questions and more to follow, but Mr Norrell begged him to please wait until later, and he would give a full account.

"Very well. What's more important than my king coming home?"

Mr Norrell wanted to object to this, but then they would never get to the point. He cleared his throat. He'd prepared a speech, but of course it had all flown out of his head the instant he'd seen Childermass, let alone after several minutes of vigorous debate about the wisdom and nature of Mr Norrell's decision. He found himself lost for words. At this of all crucial times! He frowned and rubbed his hands together, he tried to remember whether he had ever read any romantic declarations (as his scorn for novels and poetry were well-known, he had not). 

"Is it about what I said that night after Lascelles?" Childermass said, leaning against the wall. The set of his shoulders and his jaw looked hard, shielded.

"Yes," said Mr Norrell, grabbing this lifeline. "Yes, it is."

"You need not say it."

Of course he would know, thought Mr Norrell, and sighed gratefully. But Childermass did something bewildering: he took his greatcoat and began to walk towards the door.

"What are you doing?"

"I upset you, I made you uncomfortable, you wish for me to leave your house. Yes?"

"No!"

Childermass stopped and stared. "Well, then what else were you going to say?"

Mr Norrell decided that he currently despised Childermass, that talking had never and would never do them any good, and that the only thing to do was step forward and kiss him. This he did.

Childermass, in his astonishment, dropped his greatcoat.

Then he put his free hands to better use pulling Mr Norrell closer. Mr Norrell had expected a cursory kiss, a mere statement of intentions, but Childermass apparently did not know how to do that. He had his arms around Mr Norrell, dipping him a little to make them fit better. There was another thing Mr Norrell had learned: Childermass was more dramatic than he seemed.

Mr Norrell managed to disentangle himself enough to tug at Childermass's sleeve. "The maids," he said a little breathlessly.

Childermass bumped his nose with Mr Norrell's. "What matter is it to them if their employers kiss in the hall? It's legal."

"My reputation, John. My dignity."

"Oh, very well." 

Childermass took his hand and led him through corridors. Mr Norrell said, "So you did mean to say what I thought, with the comment."

"I shouldn't have said it in the first place."

"I thought you hated sentiment."

"Didn't say I enjoyed this."

"I didn't think you could ever have feelings for anyone."

Childermass laughed, a short sarcastic sound. "I wish  _ that _ were true."

They were in the library. "You could have at least taken me to the bedroom," said Mr Norrell. 

Childermass said, with intent, "I've been thinking about doing this for thirteen years."

"Don't be silly. We've only been married for nine." 

"Aye," said Childermass grimly, pushing him down into a sofa and sitting beside him.

Mr Norrell gawped. "What?"

Childermass groaned and rested his forehead against Mr Norrell's. "Must we discuss this now?"

"Yes!"

"You're intolerable."

"Have you," said Mr Norrell with great care, "thought the better of marrying me yet?"

Childermass was silent for a moment. "I've thought the better of marrying you many a time, but not because you're intolerable. I knew that going in."

"Why, then?" said Mr Norrell.

Childermass gave one of those sighs that only Mr Norrell's notions could bring out in him. "Mainly, I regretted marrying you because I had already developed too great a toleration for you."

"Ah!" said Mr Norrell. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"And you'd have said--what? That was just as well, because I'd be right fit to marry you, then? Or you'd have been uncomfortable with me."

Mr Norrell was silent. He wondered if he would have been uncomfortable with Childermass, or if he'd have grown into ease, the way he had now. Certainly, he would have wanted to do the respectable thing and marry Childermass if so -- not because marriage was so great an institution, but because it would be so much more convenient. So perhaps it would have all worked out the same anyway.

Childermass had evidently decided that the pause in Mr Norrell's talking meant the time for kissing had begun again. He took Mr Norrell's face in his hands with a great and terrible tenderness that belied the exasperation on his face. His thumbs gently stroked Mr Norrell's cheekbones, sending shivery little shocks down Mr Norrell's face and neck. Their noses bumped again. It was as if, finally having what he wanted within his grasp, he was savoring it before taking it. Mr Norrell was not used to being savored. The notion that someone else would want to take their time with you...

Childermass's lips just brushed Mr Norrell's. The most delicate of touches, teasing, light. Spellbound, Mr Norrell did not fight it, even though he ached for more. He still didn't quite know what to do with his hands, but he tried anyway, sliding one into Childermass's hair and resting the other on his waist. 

He remembered, suddenly, the intensity of his desire to touch when Childermass had been in bed, how desperately he had wanted the comfort of this. And now it was his for the taking. He didn't wait for Childermass to bestow another featherlight kiss; instead, he pulled him closer and kissed him as best he could.

Childermass made a soft noise and tilted Mr Norrell's head a little, deepened the kiss. Not so much patience after all, when it came down to it. Very hypocritical of him to pretend, thought Mr Norrell, very, very, very deeply glad that Childermass was here. He wanted Childermass to know this, to feel as much the relief of this moment as he did.

"I can't see why we didn't do this before," Mr Norrell mumbled. 

Childermass ran a thumb down to Mr Norrell's jaw. "We did. You told me I wasn't very good at it."

"It was only a possible suggestion! It was not as nice then. I didn't like the thought of all the other things, and I had not got used to you yet."  

"We had known each other for sixteen years."

Mr Norrell tried to explain. "Before we were married, I was not used to the idea of you as...a person, on whom I could...with whom I could..."

"A being of earthly existence and not a fairy-servant come to sprinkle competence into your life," said Childermass dryly. 

This was clearly sarcastic, but also true. "Well. You see, it was not until our, er, failed night, that I began to even consider the idea, and then--"

"There was Strange." Childermass had not moved; his hands were still crading Mr Norrell's face, their mouths nearly in proximity. It was a strangely intimate way to conduct a conversation. 

"Are you angry?" asked Mr Norrell.

Childermass kissed him again, a slow drawing kiss that seemed to go on forever. "No. You could not help your feelings." Another endless kiss, drawing Mr Norrell closer and closer to Childermass. There were teeth involved with this one, which shouldn't have been at all pleasant but was somehow wonderful. Mr Norrell would never have guessed that having one's lip bitten could possibly have felt like a jolt in the whole body.

Idly, he wondered about the possibility of climbing into Childermass's lap, thereby shocking himself into stopping the kiss.

"Hmm?" said Childermass lazily, emerging as if from a dream.

Mr Norrell shamefacedly explained the thought, which caused Childermass to smirk. "Try it if you want, then. There's no one to disturb us."

And so Mr Norrell did. The trick of balancing was extremely awkward, so he wound up half-sprawled across Childermass on the sofa, arms fast around his neck. There was a tender  look in Childermass's eye, a fond familiarity. His hands were holding Mr Norrell securely there, so that he did not fall.

Kissing was better like this. Their chests were pressed together, Mr Norrell's hands could play with Childermass's hair, which neatly solved the problem of what to do with them. He discovered that if he tugged it gently, Childermass made the most  _ interesting _ noises. Yet another unexplored and fascinating facet of Childermass's character: he could be caused to make noises by Mr Norrell's mere actions.

Experimentally, Mr Norrell brushed his lips along the corner of Childermass's jaw, then down along the edge of his collar. That was another interesting noise. It sounded almost helpless, as if Childermass was being broken down in some way, as if some barrier he had put up was no longer functioning. 

Mr Norrell pulled Childermass's head back by the hair, with the intention of making the bit of neck below his chin and above his collar reachable. Although he was careful to do this gently, Childermass still made a much louder noise.

"Did that hurt?" said Mr Norrell against Childermass's skin.

Childermass gave a soft and desperate laugh. "Yes, but in a good way."

"Oh," said Mr Norrell and kissed the spot, delicately, precisely, slowly, again and again.

Childermass's hands were rubbing his back, as if he wasn't quite aware he was doing it. "Do you remember," said Mr Norrell, "When you came to my room, you kissed my neck--"

"Yes. Thought you didn't like it."

"I would like," said Mr Norrell, "to explore it again."

Childermass huffed something that was not quite a laugh and began to untie Mr Norrell's neckcloth. The feeling was so familiar: he had been doing that since he had come to Mr Norrell's house, before they were even married. And now it was a gesture with significance. A gesture that portended.

Childermass's lips felt soft against the skin of his neck. It was almost ticklish, that feeling, except that Mr Norrell had never much liked being tickled. This was voltaic, a current running through him, waves that built and built. He discovered that he had to hang onto Childermass's hair quite tightly to keep his balance, and that Childermass seemed to like this very much. 

At length, Childermass came to rest against his shoulder, sighing. Mr Norrell found that he was petting his hair, in the same way that Childermass was rubbing his back. A curious happening.

"You have no idea," said Childermass into Mr Norrell's shirt, "how long I've waited to do that."

"Well," said Mr Norrell again. "I have been waiting too, you know."

"Mm? How long is that?"

"Since you got shot," said Mr Norrell. "No, before that, but that was when I realized."

Childermass looked up, startled. "When you touched me, the way you looked at me--that wasn't a hallucination?"

"Honestly, John. Why would you hallucinate my facial expression? It was very foolish of me. I wanted to be sure you had not..." He stopped. He wasn't sure what he had wanted. He thought that he had it now, though.

"I had imbibed," said Childermass, "a very great deal of laudanum. On medical orders."

"Well you have not imbibed any now, or so I should hope." said Mr Norrell sternly.

"No," said Childermass, wrapping his arms more solidly around Mr Norrell, "I only feel like it. Let's go to bed, then, since you were complaining about it."

"I wasn't  _ complaining _ ," began Mr Norrell and, happily arguing all the way, that is what they did. 


End file.
